


These Violent Delights

by Phoebe_Hunter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Chris Argent Was Not Harmed In The Making Of This Fic, M/M, Not Much Anyway, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Shameless Smut, Swearing, implied past Chris Argent/Peter Hale, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2423681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoebe_Hunter/pseuds/Phoebe_Hunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Actually, Argent,” Peter said, straightening. “I came for this.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Violent Delights

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know how this happened. I was meant to be writing something much more surreal and poetic and then suddenly I was writing smut and I created some plot to provide dubious context for said smut. And that is what this is. Please do not look too carefully at the plot. 
> 
> It has been a really, really long time since I have written anything this graphic. So...enjoy? 
> 
> I didn't warn for dubious consent because it's not really dub-con, in my opinion, but I will warn that one party is a somewhat aggressive initiator of sexy tiems, and it takes the other a little while to decide to play ball. If that's an appropriate analogy. It's probably not. 
> 
> Concrit is welcome and comments are much loved, particularly as I'm nervous about this one.
> 
> Also, I'm relatively new to Tumblr, so if you're interested....[here I am.](http://silverintheblood.tumblr.com/) There is a lot of TW, interspesed with some Marvel and various other random fandoms.

The door opened before Chris could raise a hand to knock. Peter had a glass of scotch in one hand and a tea towel over his arm, his feet bare and his hair a little tousled. Chris caught a brief glimpse of the apartment – light, floorboards, the flicker of the television – before Peter moved to block his view, bracing one arm against the door frame. The redolence of roasting tomatoes and fresh basil crept into the hallway.

“Argent. What an unexpected pleasure.” Peter didn’t step back to allow Chris past. There was wariness in his cool blue eyes; a watchful stillness that belied the mocking twist of his lips. His eyes tracked from the gun on Chris’ hip to the slight bulge of the wrist sheaths under Chris’ shirt. “I’m not guilty.”

“I’m calling in a favour.” Chris forced himself to meet Peter’s eyes. It shouldn’t have been difficult. Just one more thing boxed up and packaged neatly away, another lid taped down.

“I don’t remember…oh,” Peter tilted his head. “I thought we were pretending those years didn’t exist, Argent. It’s been a while. You got married. Had a baby. I died.” Ice cubes clinked as Peter took another sip of his scotch. “I’d love to be of assistance, but I’m afraid I’ve got something on the stove.”

“It’s James Hollingdale. He’s here to join the alpha pack.”

The amusement slid off Peter’s face, and there was a flash of something in Peter’s eyes that Chris didn’t recognise – a dark crack in smooth ice, as much an absence as a presence. A reminder, sharp as a gunshot, that Peter wasn’t all mercurial smiles and sharp angles anymore.

Peter quaffed his drink and smiled. “Give me a moment to change. I like this shirt.”

-

Chris half expected Peter to lean back and put his boots on the dashboard; it had been his favourite method of provocation once, sprawled in the passenger seat fiddling with the radio while Chris drove. Peter had always _inhabited_ every space he found himself in; a casual arm around Chris’ shoulders after a game, his feet up on the coffee table when they watched TV, his legs hooked over the edge of the couch as he read. Peter was still for now, face reflected in the passenger window, the streetlights painting his features in gold and shadows.  

“Couldn’t the prodigal daughter assist? You know I’m not at my best.”

“She just lost a friend. And I don’t need you to be at your best.”

Peter flicked a glance at Chris. “Ah, I get to be bait. How _nice_.” He leant back in the seat. “Should we reminisce, Argent? Talk about old times?” The smile he gave Chris was all teeth.

“Send Hollingdale a message and ask him to meet you.”

Peter gave an exaggerated sigh “Always all business.”

Chris ignored him, but his eyes followed Peter’s fingers as they danced over the keypad of the phone.

“Done.”

They lapsed into a silence that couldn’t have been called comfortable. Peter tapped out an idle rhythm on one thigh, his eyes still on the road ahead.

“If you make one move towards finishing Hollingdale off, I’ll put a bullet in your head,” Chris said as they pulled over.

Peter chuckled. “I wondered when we’d get to that." His voice dropped, roughened a little. "I promise I’ll be good.”

-

“Hollingdale. It’s been a while. I’d heard you were dead.” Peter’s voice was light and conversational. Chris stayed absolutely still, positioned so that the night breeze carried his scent away from the two werewolves. The crossbow was a comforting weight in his hands.

“I heard you had your ass handed to you by a bunch of kids,” Hollingdale said. He ran to fat where Peter ran to muscle, slouching and unkempt in a stained plaid shirt and ripped jeans. He’d never looked like much. But his eyes followed Peter’s every movement and he kept his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Peter’s smile widened. “I suppose that just shows you can’t believe everything you hear.”

“What do you want, Hale?”

“We don't have nearly enough time to cover that." Peter looked as though he was enjoying himself. "You’re here to join Deucalion’s pack. There’s something you should see.”

“What?” Hollingdale asked. He sounded bored but he stepped forward as Peter held out the wad of photos.

Peter moved too fast for Chris to follow. The photos floated to the ground as Peter’s claws caught Hollingdale across the stomach, punching deep and propelling him backwards. Hollingdale roared in mingled pain and fury as Peter’s other fist connected hard with his jaw, his voice shuddering from human to animal. There was a flash of light on brass and Hollingdale’s knuckledusters missed Peter’s nose by a hairsbreadth as Peter flung himself backwards, eyes flashing blue.

Peter used his momentum to pivot on one leg, ducking under another punch from Hollingdale and slamming his foot into the other man’s kneecap. Chris caught a brief glimpse of fur and fangs as Hollingdale stumbled and Peter’s boot caught him square in the abdomen. Hollingdale’s fist smashed into Peter’s jaw and Peter went down, hooking his arms around Hollingdale’s ankles as he hit the ground and pulling the other man with him.

Chris stepped out of concealment as Hollingdale gained the upper hand, his knee driving into Peter’s ribs with an audible crunch. Peter roared and slammed a fist into Hollingdale’s stomach. Hollingdale reeled backwards and Chris’ first arrow caught him square between the shoulder blades. Peter surged upwards as the other man flailed, off balance, and this time his claws raked straight down Hollingdale’s face. Blood spurted and Hollingdale howled.

Chris’ second and third arrows thudded home into Hollingdale’s chest. The fourth went straight through his throat. Peter shoved the other man backwards and Hollingdale hit the ground hard, grasping for the arrow with blood soaked fingers. Peter straddled Hollingdale’s chest, eyes glowing blue, teeth bared, and for a second Chris was somewhere else entirely and it was Peter on the ground, bloody and burnt, and he couldn't get the taste of smoke out of his mouth. 

“Argent,” Peter roared as Hollingdale made an abortive swipe for Peter's throat, “get a move on!”

-

“You didn’t try to kill him.” Chris lowered the pistol and turned the body over with his foot. One less worry. One more body to dispose of. He braced one foot on Hollingdale’s chest and jerked out the arrows one by one.

“Surprised? I’m wounded by your lack of faith in me.” Peter’s tongue darted out to catch a drop of blood as his split lip healed. He lifted his shirt and examined his abdomen, running careful fingers over the fading bruises.

Chris looked away. “It makes me wonder why you came.”

“Is it so difficult to believe I was honouring a promise to an old…friend?” Peter let the shirt fall. “Actually, Argent,” he said, straightening. “I came for this.”

Peter turned, hands closing on Chris' shoulders, and shoved Chris back against the wall. His mouth was on Chris’ before Chris could draw breath, hot and hard and hungry. The arrows clattered to the ground as Chris stiffened, raising his hands to shove Peter away. Peter caught Chris’ wrists and pinned them against the wall, pressing closer until Chris could feel the ragged rise and fall of his chest and the pounding of his heart. Chris strained against the grip on his wrists and shifted, trying to raise his knee. Peter pulled away, nipping Chris lower lip in rebuke. "I know all your tricks, Christopher," he murmurred against Chris' mouth.

This time the kiss was slower, gentler. Peter brushed his lips over Chris' with unexpected tenderness, his thumbs caressing the inside of Chris' wrists. And damn Peter for remembering that, for knowing just where to touch Chris to have him coming undone, to have him forgetting where they were. Who they were. Peter deepened the kiss and Chris fought the urge to kiss back, to lean into Peter’s embrace, to see whether Peter would still make the same sounds, move in the same way he had all those years ago.

Peter trailed his lips along Chris’ jaw to his ear. “Don’t pretend.” Peter’s teeth caught the edge of Chris’ earlobe. “I can smell it all over you.”

Peter’s leg pressed between Chris’ thighs and Chris was half-hard already, just from watching Peter fight. Peter’s breath huffed out in satisfaction and his mouth fastened on the side of Chris’ neck, a press of teeth and then a flick of tongue as he pushed Chris harder against the wall. The hands were gone from Chris’ wrists and Chris grabbed a handful of Peter’s shirt, fingers tightening as Peter shifted, his thigh pressing hard against Chris’ cock.

“Come on.” The tip of Peter’s tongue traced Chris’ jugular as his hand slipped under the waistband of Chris’ jeans. Chris couldn’t choke back a groan. The constriction of the denim and the pressure of Peter’s hand was almost too much, had Chris’ hips bucking and his back arching as he tried to press down and pull away all at once.  

“That’s right,” Peter said, voice rough. Peter’s lips found Chris’ again and Chris reached up to curl one hand around the nape of Peter’s neck as his lips parted. Peter's tongue brushed Chris’ and Chris shuddered, grinding down into Peter’s grip. It was too much; Peter’s hands sliding under his shirt, the pressure of Peter’s thigh against his dick, Peter’s mouth on his.

Peter pulled away. “Breathe, Christopher,” he murmured, his voice too ragged for sarcasm. There was still blood on his lips. Chris caught Peter’s lower lip between his teeth and bit down as Peter’s fingernails dug into his waist..

"Shut up, Peter," Chris growled, and it was Peter’s turn to groan as Chris ghosted his fingers over the bulge in Peter’s jeans

Peter dropped to his knees in one fluid movement. His fingers flicked the button on Chris’ jeans and he caught the zipper in his teeth. Chris’ head thudded back against the wall as Peter hooked his thumbs in Chris’ belt loops and tugged them down so he could mouth Chris’ cock through his briefs. Chris choked back a moan and buried one hand in Peter’s hair, the other scratching for purchase on the wall behind him.

A claw made short work of the cotton and it was probably wrong that the hint of sharpness against Chris’ cock made Chris harder, made him want Peter more, but then Peter’s mouth was agonisinly close to where Chris wanted it, Peter's breath hot against Chris' skin, and Chris couldn’t think about anything but trying to stay silent as Peter’s tongue traced the underside of his cock. Peter’s hands slid around to cup his ass and Chris’ hips bucked forward as Peter swallowed him down in one smooth movement.

It had been so long. So long since anyone had gotten on their knees for him, so long since he’d had anything but his own fist around his cock. Peter’s mouth was hot as hell, his hands tight on Chris’ hips so Chris could do nothing but let Peter set the rhythm, pleasure sparking through him every time his cock hit the back of Peter’s throat. Peter hummed in satisfaction and Chris' hips jerked in Peter's grip as pleasure rippled through him.

Peter pulled back for a moment and Chris glanced down. Peter looked back, lowered lashes veiling his blue eyes, the tip of Chris cock resting between his lips, and Chris couldn’t choke back a wordless, breathless groan. Chris curled his fingers deeper into Peter’s hair and tugged. Peter’s breath hitched and his eyes flashed, tilting his head as Chris increased the pressure. Peter’s tongue darted out to curl around the head of Chris’ cock, teasing the slit.

“Peter,” Chris growled.

Peter’s lips curved into a smile and he engulfed Chris’ cock with his mouth again. He set a faster rhythm this time, rolling his tongue along Chris’ length every time he pulled back. One of Peter’s fingers slipped between the cheeks of Chris’ ass, and Chris was close, so close, hips bucking as Peter took him deeper. Chris head hit the wall again and his back arched. He was trapped between Peter’s mouth and Peter’s hand, shivering on the brink, the pressure building in his belly and the base of his spine.

And then Peter’s mouth was gone and Chris cried out at the loss. He reached for his cock but Peter caught his hands, pressing them back against the wall, and Chris’ need was so intense it _hurt_. Peter rose to his feet as Chris gasped for breath, hips pushing forward as he searched for friction. The fleeting brush of Chris’ cock against the roughness of Peter’s jeans nearly undid Chris, nearly wrung a howl of frustration out of him.

Peter was hard in his jeans, breath ragged and lips swollen, his hair a dishevelled mess from Chris’ fingers. He ran his eyes slowly over Chris’ body, gaze lingering on Chris twitching cock.

“Fuck you,” Chris snarled. He could feel the sweat trickling down from his brow.

Peter just smiled and turned away, releasing Chris’ hands. His step didn’t falter as Chris reached down and jerked himself to a raw, shuddering climax. It wasn’t enough. He needed Peter’s hands, Peter’s mouth.

Peter turned back when he reached the door.

“You know where I live, Argent,” he said. And walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> So, erm...maybe there should be a sequel? Yes? No? Maybe?


End file.
